The Tower of Bones (6 page)

‘There are those among us who think that the Ambassador, as you call her, should stand before our Court charged with profligate abuse of her role.’

‘Ma’am! If you want any cooperation from me you’re going to have to forget about any such trial. I regard the Ambassador as my friend.’

‘You speak wilfully. Yet greater forces may be at work than you realise.’

Alan was rapidly running out of patience with diplomacy. ‘Sister Aon – I suspect you already know why I’m here.’

‘You seek the whereabouts of the portal.’

‘Will you show me where to find it?’

Aon shook her head in vexation. ‘Perhaps the Ambassador should stay! But be advised that if you choose confrontation you will place your own life, and the lives of all who depend on you, in danger.’

‘Ma’am, thank you.’

Aon turned to Milish. ‘Have you warned him against such foolishness?’

Alan spoke for Milish. ‘The Ambassador has repeatedly warned me, much as you have. But I have no choice but to confront the Fáil!’

Sister Aon stared at Alan for several moments, as if questioning his sanity. But the look of determination on his face persuaded her. ‘Very well! But you will not be allowed to use your power to probe minds in this chamber. And you will both be excluded from our subsequent deliberations.’

So saying, she led Alan and Milish into a semicircular chamber where the remaining forty-nine members, all wearing gowns of lime-green, were seated in tiered rows. Aon took her place next to a very old woman who sat on an elevated rostrum at the centre of the semicircle, and here the Pretender to High Architect accepted a small sceptre that she tapped just once on the dark oak bench before her.

‘Members of the Half Hundred! The Mage Lord, Alan Duval, together with the Princess of Essyne Xhosa, beg audience. Grave times beset us. The Mage Lord wishes to discover the portal once resident at Ossierel, but brought here for safe keeping. What are we to make of such a request?

‘None among us, under any normal circumstances, would sanction a confrontation of the power beyond that portal. We would assume that it would lead to the destruction of this ancient sanctuary, even Carfon itself. Yet these are not ordinary circumstances and the Mage Lord is no ordinary mortal. In his brow he bears the Oraculum of the First Power of the Most Holy Trídédana.’

Alan’s eyes moved back to the old woman, recognising the bent and twisted figure that had warned him from the assembled crowds as the Temple Ship had arrived into the harbour. That same figure had warned him that his quest here might prove to be a poisoned chalice. As then, a thrill of alarm pulsed in his oraculum.

But what did it mean?

Sister Aon continued to address the council. ‘We recognise that the golden age of Ossierel is past. A new political reality prevails. The Kyra of the Shee is but across the water. Daily her forces gather. The Elector, Ebrit, supported by the High Families, raises a mighty force of arms in the city’s defence. Two armies not altogether allied to each other now ring this chamber, while others more malignant regard our sacred charge with avid eyes.

‘And now,’ she turned to face Alan directly, ‘this stranger demands audience to demand access to the portal. If I understand him, he offers commonality of purpose to this Council in return for our assistance. Thus do we face the gravest dilemma since the fall of Ossierel. Should we assist him in this seemingly foolish enterprise – or should we refuse? The question is now open to debate.’

Several voices called out at once: ‘Then let him speak.’

With a face like stone, Sister Aon waved Alan to the floor in front of her rostrum. ‘Face the assembly, if you will. No doubt you will speak as frankly to them as you already have to me.’

Alan stood erect, forcing himself to relax the fists that had been clenched by his sides. ‘Sisters – if that is what I’m supposed to call you – you can see I’m no kind of diplomat. I speak my mind. I know what some of you think about the last High Architect, Ussha De Danaan. I understand why you might hate her. She did nothing to save Ossierel. Through the powers of the Mage of Dreams
I was taken back to Ossierel and I spoke to Ussha De Danaan as she was dying.’

Alan paused to allow the shock of his words to run its course among them. ‘You must be wondering, just as I did, why she brought me and my friends there to meet her. From what I gathered she didn’t do it through madness, despair, or through cowardice or anything like that. She had some kind of a plan.’

The chamber was filled with murmuring.

‘In the name of the Most Holy— why you?’

‘As far as I can see, her bringing us here to your world was part of that plan. Don’t expect me to explain because, frankly, I don’t understand it myself. All I can tell you is that she called us “chosen”. Why, or how, we happened to be chosen, I have no idea. But she gave us a clue. The ultimate cause of it all, the evil that’s wrecking your world, involves the Fáil. Your enemy, the Tyrant of the Wastelands, has captured a portal and he is actively corrupting its influence.’

A stunned silence filled the chamber.

Alan spoke again, his words invading the silence. ‘I know you doubt her integrity. But I really believe that her heart, and purpose, were true.’

A hiss of shock filled the chamber.

‘Why then’, demanded Aon, ‘should we believe a stranger when the wisest minds in the land have failed to understand these terrible portents?’

‘Ma’am, I don’t rightly know why. As an old woman
once said to me, although she used different words, there are times when you have to trust to your heart and instinct. I must ask you also to trust your hearts and instincts.’

‘You speak eloquently, for all your lack of years, but eloquence is no persuasion. Too much is at stake here.’

‘Then will you allow the Ambassador to speak?’

Sister Aon tapped the sceptre on the bench surface. ‘Should the Xhosa be allowed to address this meeting? On such a matter of high principle, I would suggest we take the opinion of the oldest and most experienced among us. Sister Hocht will decide.’

All eyes turned to the old woman sitting on the rostrum beside Sister Aon, watching in silence as she took to her feet, leaning on an ancient staff of power. Her face, lifting with difficulty on her bent and withered neck, was as dry as parchment, stretched over the angular bones of her skull. Her eyes, deeply set within their shadowed orbits, were grey-ringed with age, yet they clearly held the respect of the entire chamber. The old woman gazed first at Alan and then at Milish. She lifted the staff of power and struck it sharply against the wooden floor of the rostrum. Then in a reedy voice she said: ‘Let the Princess of Laása speak.’

Milish joined Alan on the floor before the rostrum. She hesitated, as if to gather her thoughts, before speaking.

‘I thank you, Holy Sisters, for this opportunity to address the High Council. There is much I might say to you, but time is pressing and I will keep it brief. I have had plenty of opportunity to observe this brave young
man, witnessing how differently he sees our world. And I cannot help but conclude that, at least in part, we brought downfall upon ourselves. We enjoyed spiritual glory at Ossierel with little thought or care for the peoples of the Wastelands. In our arrogance we dismissed as barbarian much that should have become the focus of our concerns and attention, and in so doing we allowed the greater part of our world to be invaded, and increasingly dominated, by evil. Such were the fruits of our isolationism then. Even today we persist in fighting amongst ourselves and plotting and counterplotting for power in conflict with the Elector and the other city leaders. Meanwhile the forces of darkness encircle us without hindrance or opposition.’

A voice exclaimed, ‘How can we trust these warmongers when we see the example of Isscan, which sued for terms, and still stands, even prospers, despite being ruled by the Death Legion? Prudence dictates that we too should sue for peace – settle on whatever terms we can obtain with the Tyrant’s forces.’

‘Is this the view of many of you?’

A chorus of murmurs indicated that it carried a good deal of approval.

Alan found the source of the voice, a tall woman with bright blue eyes in a florid angry-looking face.

Sister Aon’s voice rang out: ‘How many would disagree with Sister Siebe?’

It seemed, from the rising chorus of voices, that much the same number were in opposition.

Siebe raised her voice in challenge. ‘What alternative do these warmongers suggest? Are we to risk our lives and the very fabric of this ancient sanctuary in assisting this so-called Mage Lord, who acknowledges that he knows nothing of our world?’

Alan shook his head. ‘While you bicker among yourselves the life of my friend Kate is in danger. I don’t want to offend you. I came here hoping you would help me. But if you refuse, I’ll find the portal by myself. But maybe you should think about what’s going to happen to you if I fail. What will become of this place, and the city of Carfon, when the Tyrant wins ultimate control over the Fáil? Then you’ll find out for yourselves what comes of bargaining with malice.’

His words brought consternation, with many voices raised in differing opinions. The voices were silenced by a second tap of the staff of power against the floor of the rostrum.

There was something deeply familiar about the old woman, Sister Hocht. Something more than the memory of her warning on his arrival into the harbour here aboard the Temple Ship.

‘Who are you?’ he asked her. ‘Why do you look so familiar to me?’

‘Are your wits so confused you cannot remember your guide from the landscape of dreams?’

Vividly, he recalled their spiritual journey back in time to the battle of Ossierel, made possible by Qwenqwo’s
magic. There had been an old crone who had appeared as a soul spirit herself to guide them through the ravaged streets of the burning citadel. She had led them through an underground labyrinth to stand before the dying High Architect, crucified on the silver gates.

‘It was you?’

‘Yes!’ she cackled. ‘You remember me now! Was I not Spiritual Rector of Ossierel, and the closest confidante of the De Danaan herself!’

‘But then you know I’m telling the truth? You must have heard her words?’

‘I heard nothing. She spoke to you, as a mind opens to another, without need of ear or tongue.’

‘But how did you survive?’

‘There are powers, and secrets, even an oraculum-bearer is not privileged to know.’ She took his arm and leaned on him, while leading him out of the chamber. ‘Let you, my sisters, argue among yourselves. Let the Xhosa wait here for our return. For this discussion will not come to completion this night, or tomorrow, or this very year, if my instincts are anything to go by. In the meantime, young man, you and I have matters to discuss. It is a discussion I have looked forward to since first I witnessed your triumphant entry into the city – a discussion best conducted between us alone.’

Alan had to slow his pace to walk beside the old woman, whose emaciated hand shook as it gripped her staff, and whose words came out slowly and shakily through her blue-black lips.

‘Tell me more,’ she spoke softly, ‘about your friend.’

Alan sensed that this frail, elderly woman, Sister Hocht, would understand things in a way that nobody else he knew might understand. He talked about Kate and what had happened to her on the journey here. He talked about Granny Dew, and how she had conferred crystals on Mark and Kate at the same time she had embedded the ruby triangle of the First Power in Alan’s brow. He also told her about Mark’s seduction by the succubus, which, as far as he could determine, indicated that the Witch and the Tyrant must have been in league with one another from the beginning. ‘Kate,’ he added, ‘was a target for the Gargs
from the very beginning. First they tried to kill her. Then they took her to this Tower of Bones.’

‘Which means she is the prisoner of the Great Witch, Olc.’

‘So Qwenqwo Cuatzel believes – yes.’

‘The question then is – why Olc’s interest in Kate?’

‘I don’t know.’

They walked through cloisters of cold grey marble, illuminated by sconces and pitted with age. For a time there was no more than the resonance of their footsteps, hollow and soft, as if muffled by the millennia of secrets that lay cloaked within these walls. Alan pleaded with the old woman. ‘Sister Hocht – they’re tormenting Kate day and night in that horrible place. I sense her pain. And I can’t bear it.’

‘You are brave and good. Of course you care about your friend. And now I see what drives you to such a dangerous course of action. But brave intentions will not suffice. You must not be manipulated into making a fatal mistake.’

‘Can’t you help me? You must know where I can find the portal.’

‘Ach – you stumble in blind ignorance while appearing foolishly certain of what you imagine your need. Was it not I who was given the honour of moving the portal from doomed Ossierel to these hallowed cloisters? None better than I know how dangerous that portal is. Only the De Danaan had the strength and knowledge to confront it – and we have seen what became of her. Knowing this, will
you not heed me now? The Fáil is not merely dangerous to contemplate, it is far more so to confront.’ She paused a moment to clutch at his arm with fingers so ancient they were little more than tendon-wrapped bones. ‘My brave young friend, it is dangerous beyond your powers to imagine.’

‘When I was coming here, I had a strange experience. It was at a very difficult and sad time. I was given advice by what I would guess was some kind of spiritual guide.’ Alan spoke the strange words that were engraved on his memory:

‘All wisdom is contained within the Fáil. Yet such wisdom is perilous beyond your understanding. You must approach your purpose elliptically, not directly.’

Hocht’s eyes blinked up at him, her neck arched from her stooping shoulders, her skull-like face impassioned but curious. ‘The message appears vague – it sounds more a warning than an instruction to confront the Fáil.’

‘The guide told me that the Fáil has become corrupted.’